i never said that i would be your lover
i never said that i would be your friend
i never said that i would take no other

She doesn’t come here often, prefers her own alpine meadows, or the dark forest depths that twist out from the river. It is a thoroughfare more than anything else, she’s been to the field more times that she can count but does not recall ever just lingering in the meadow that stands between that place and The Mountain looming above. Stopping today is a whim, the grass is tall and autumn gold, beyond the rustle and whisper in the wind there isn’t a soul in sight. In autumn there is a ripeness to the world that easily hypnotizes the sensitive Primarch who so willingly grows drunk on her own senses. It’s not a special ability bestowed by the magic of a fairy or the land, she simply opens the floodgates and savors the world in a way others forget to. 

So she wades among the high grass and its heavy seed heads, it trails against her pelt and leaves foxtails in her flaxen locks. Topaz eyes trace the waves of gold, rolling hills stirred to life in the breeze. Dropping her muzzle down to absently lip at the fringe before her Kensa shivers at the coiling desire to trample all that  lies before her, to roll and destroy, and make a vast nest for herself to hide in the meadow like a child or a fawn. 

The desires to enjoy and to rend are so close at times that one becomes the other.

Lost in these musings and the lull of sensation she does not take note of anyone approaching, or the sound of anyone speaking to her if they do, only drifts absently over amber waves until she can be startled from her reverie...and which point she snaps to an alertness and intensity that makes her particular beauty into a kind of electricity conducted through her gold-veined frame.
“Oh… I’m Kensa.”
Because she isn’t sure if the stranger she has so rudely failed to notice has asked...and she has mastered this strange introduction in which she uses her name as a hello in a way both bold and innocent. 


 
 

i never said that i would be your lover
i never said that i would be your friend
i never said that i would take no other

The golden boy has stopped suddenly, his wings flared wide so that the sunlight filters through the creamy iridescence of his feathers. Some of those feathers drift down around her and she cannot help but laugh, a brief bell chime, as they drift down near her legs.  One downy arc tumbles across the slope of her back like cottonwood fluff, a wing seed (she imagines, for she has always coveted those feathered appendages). Her bright eyes are intent upon the face of the stallion, the band of his halo reflected in their dark pupils.

“Hello Ophanim.” The smoothness of his tones and his bright manner draws her immediately. Beyond being a lover of pretty things the charming primarch does love to be charmed in turn. Her chin draws in slightly when he says there is something in her hair, she doesn't much care but naturally tries to see just what has stuck in her mane. Ophanim gingerly takes a foxtail from among her blond tresses and Kensa gives her head a shake after he has drawn it away. “Thank you.” The chestnut mare is unperturbed until she notices the barbed little seed has rooted itself in his flesh. Brows knit with concern as he requests her help and without hesitation Kensa steps close to the tobiano.

Her pale lips brush against his own, but the sharp thing is not so easy to loosen. She cannot help but notice he smells like sunlight and something else unfamiliar, perhaps the place from which he comes. Kensa wonders if he is breathing her in too, and a warmth drifts into her cheeks as she murmurs, “Hold still.” This time she presses her lips to his, and then, catching his lower lip in her teeth drags them gently over his skin until she can free the seed and drop it to the earth between their feet. Its an innocent moment but Kensa is keenly aware that it does not feel that way. Her muzzle is still close to his own, and she is quiet a beat too long. Her brain manages to put just a single word upon her reluctant tongue. “Better?”